Too much miscellany, not enough time.

August 03, 2010

Dress Me Up! Dress Me Down! Figuring Out Bastide

Some cheer the demise of formality, and some defend it. I straddle both camps. Growing up in my particular Los Angeles meant hardly ever having to dress up, and god forbid, never addressing anyone by their last name. For a while in college, I avoided using any name at all, relying instead on plain "Professor." I loved our laid-back lifestyle, and thought any dress code was totally wack. Part of this ethic came from my family. When my parents were invited to the Harvard Club of NY with a cousin, for instance, my dad got a cheap pair of Top-Siders or some WASPy aspirational style shoe, wore them to dinner, and then immediately gave them away. Avoiding that kind of "horseshit" was part of the reason why my folks moved to L.A. in the first place.

Call me reactionary, but now as an adult, I love any rare excuse to dress up. I've got a closet full of clothes fit for a lifestyle which as a parent with young messy kids, I simply do not lead. And I'm looking right at ya, Carolina Herrera Emmy gown that I SWORE I'd wear again. I get pissed off when people think rocking jeans in very nice restaurants is cool, and I don't think it's excusable to wear Levi's just because you're carrying an Hermes handbag that costs more than my car.

But I still feel uncomfortable in any environment that requires a certain standard of dress, or puts on fancy formal airs, even if there's no posted, official dress code. So the infamous topsy-turvy story of Bastide on Melrose Place is an excellent case study of weighing feelings and attitudes towards Los Angeles's attempts at "white tablecloth" dining.

Back during the Alain Giraud era of Bastide version 1.0, I picked Bastide for my Fancy Birthday Dinner in 2003. It was a major special treat for us that required saving pennies, and my unreliable memory romanticizes the experience as The Time When More Fine Dining Existed.

Thanks to the miracle of the googling, I found a query and subsequent report I posted on Chowhound (written under a stupid handle I used for a pair of seconds). Even if I cringe reading my ignorant Chowhounding and writing from way back then, it's a reality check about why maybe it's a GOOD thing that yet another Big Fucking Deal Fancy Place changed with the times.

And yet, when we went to Bastide for our anniversary last Friday, I felt a slight tinge of sadness that Andrée Putman's cool, exacting, maximally conceived minimal décor had given way to scarlet accent walls, beaded curtains (eek!), banana leaf wallpaper (although I'm always down with an ode to the Paul Williams period at the Beverly Hills Hotel), Campbell soup can pendant light fixtures, and even an Assouline bookstore. At least the patio hasn't changed much. But when I re-read my 2003 account of our meal, it's no wonder that as the night wore on during this last time around, we were so comfortable in the space that feels charmingly intimate and unlike any other restaurant in Los Angeles. And it's not because Bastide is the city's most expensive or most precious place.

Even if the menu reads like a straightforward modern French and Cali market-driven roster, and is worlds away from Giraud's approach. Not to mention Ludovic Lefebvre's tenure at Bastide, and LudoBites, where we'd ironically enough, just been for a phenomenal meal the night before. Executive Chef Joseph Mahon's focused cooking delivers. From the platter of Kumamotos topped with Banyuls vinegar shallot mignonette and simply arranged in a row, to the velvety sweet corn soup with its bit of porky and curried bite, to the slices of yielding yellowtail with shaved asparagus and apple soy dressing that mellows and accents the fish, to the buttery medium rare steak slices with peas (not totally in season but I'll forgive that), this was all careful but not fussy. In short, satisfying and classy. I couldn't get through the version of mac n' cheese made with orzo, fontina and beloved Époisses -- but high falutin, stunt interpretations don't do much for me. Where there once was strained delicate tomato water soup, there's a full-bodied but smooth, tangy gazpacho studded with mild shrimp. Not as technically "impressive," but hits the seasonal spot. Desserts are lovely. The buttermilk panna cotta's raspberry consome dazzles under that Campbell's soup can light. The subtle bottle of '96 La Gomerie from the wine list of special and low-inventory bottles priced at or below retail had something to do with the warm happy feeling, but I would've been won over anyway.

Bastide's prices aren't at the upper range of L.A. restaurants, but the service sure is. Wine is properly decanted, water is continually refilled, butter is house-made, the table perfectly set, seat cushions are regularly fluffed, and attention is paid. Given that we're talking about $10-15 apps and salads, and $20-36 main courses, Bastide has become something of -- dare I say? -- a relative bargain. To think dinner at Café Stella or any other not-cheap neighborhood bistro costs the same is a head-scratcher. This obviously has to do with the fact that Bastide has its Daddy Warbucks.

Apologies for the lack of images, but I've never been an Everything I Ate kind of blogger anyway. Recent Bastide pics are available at other blogs, should you need better visuals.

So the take-away is that I'm at peace with L.A. remaining in essence a casual town, which is further mandated by the times we live in. I just have to be OK with showing up over-dressed.

Disclosure: we were not hosted, but received several dishes compliments of the chef.

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